Winter Oysters

A Poem by local author Brendan Galvin

Winter Oysters

by Brendan Galvin

February: water and sky a gape
hinged at Great Island,
mudflats and cottages scoured
of summer, but a few car trunks
open to wire buckets and rakes
with serious teeth, and a few
aficionados of wind
sliding thick socks into waders
and hooking up, ready under hoods
and watch caps to break through
the tideline's rime, later
to break with short, upturned blades
into shells parted from rocks
and 'dead man's fingers." This
is how we like them, not summer-thin
and weepy tourist fare, but hale
as innkeepers, their liquor clear,
fat with plankton that thrives
under a glaze drifting just below
green water, and without any
lemon sundrip or condiment
but a dash of bourbon to punctuate
each salty imperative.